


Once again we meet

by CallowAlex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, i can't tag so I won't
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 21:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallowAlex/pseuds/CallowAlex
Summary: I can't summarize. rating may change. yikers





	1. Chapter 1

The countertop was, by all reasonable accounts, spotless and needed no further cleaning, but his hand moved in rhythmic patterns with the dishrag anyway. He knew he could, and most likely should, do it with a muttered ‘abluate’ and be done with it, but washing up the store was almost relaxing. God, if his father were to see him he’d have quite the fit. Thank God he’d never have to think about that now.

He worried the hem of his flour coated apron as he began to untie it. He loved his job, but he could tell he tended to deter customers. But he was still young, barely 19, and he needed to work. He couldn’t go back to Hogwarts, but he was still a part of the wizarding world. It was just how it was, no matter how much he wanted to go up into a cave and hide or try and disapperate to a muggle community on the other side of the earth; he just couldn’t. So he set up his bakery in wizard London and moved into the flat above it.

Being of the Malfoy name, and with that ugly mark still on his slim arm, he couldn’t exactly brush the attention. Anything from scum to saint, it all bothered him just as much. But, admittedly, he understood the people who came in hissing and screaming at him more than those that praised him. He understood the tearful widows and angry students, he understood the aloof professors and fearful children. In fact, even sometimes he was fearful and angry in the same way as them. But you can’t change the past, so he took the beatings without attempt at rebuttal. Although some of his childhood Slytherin spunk was gone, he still felt it well up inside of him sometimes; now he could just keep it at bay.

Overall, his work was his escape. He would bake and clean and set up displays that were color coordinated to the season, holiday, or game that may be coming up. And overall he didn’t see too many people he knew. Pansy would drop in, and Blaise came once or twice, but they were still on good terms. Once Hermione dropped in, but she was kind, almost as if she didn’t remember him, or maybe no longer cared. He generally was able to cower from those he wronged. He certainly was no lion hearted Gryffindor, even if his Slytherin sneer had faded.  
Right as he was about the switch off the sign saying that the shop was still open, cold air spilled into the room and the bells above the door chimed, signaling a customer. He hardly bothered to look up as he shrugged back on the apron he was halfway done taking off. He sure as hell wasn’t making anything new tonight, but he wanted to seem professional. He pushed his blonde hair back as the person in the shop spoke from the counter, just out of view of his whereabouts in the kitchen. “Are you still open?”

Half of Draco wanted to snap at whoever walked into the store nigh 15 minutes after closing, but business wasn’t looking great this month and it’s not like he had anywhere to be. “Yes, one moment!” He looked at his dull reflection on a bronze skillet hanging by his head. He looked older than he was, his hair now inching down the nape of his neck and grazing his pale forehead. His ensemble didn’t help him much either. A tight pair of black chinos with an equally ill fitting button down, shrouded in a much too large apron, covered in flower and spices and dye and frosting. He clenched his fists tightly as he walked out, his head down, looking at his shoes. 

When he got to the counter, without looking up, he observed the person at the counter. They were short, wearing a coat and thick black sweater: muggle clothing by the looks of it. He was overall hesitant to make eye contact, so he stared at the person’s shoe, fearing recognition. As he looked up, he sputtered “How may- holy fucking merde- How may I help you?”  
The green eyes almost made him angry, in a way that caused the question to turn into a venomous spit. The man sighed, running his calloused hands through his messy, curling hair so it was out of his face. But the pushed back hair showed his forehead, solidifying that it really was him who he was talking to. “Nice to see you too.”

Why was Harry fucking Potter in his bake shop at 10:17 on a Tuesday night at the end of November? For the almost year he had been working here, he hadn’t come by, so why now? And why did he seem so annoyed with Draco’s displeasure with having him here. But, again, business was down and Harry was rich, so he tried to mooch what he could out of the situation. “Sorry, you just startled me,” He tried a smile, but he could feel its lopsided, derogatory nature. Hopefully Potter was still dense and wouldn’t pick up on that. “What can I get you?”

“Can I get a caramel caldron cake?” He offered, his hands rubbing together as if he was the anxious one. Draco feigned a smile as he fetched a cake to heat up.

“That will just be one moment,” He shouted haphazardly as he began to drizzle and fill it with salted caramel while he punched in the order from the other side of the shop. He hated whenever people came in and assumed, just because he had magic, it made his job easier. The focus needed to run around and bake something from across the room really was tremendous, especially since he couldn’t’ve been slightly bothered to grab his wand. As he produced the receipt, he waved his hand and the treat was wrapped in a parcel bag, adorned carefully with a white ribbon to contrast the black box. He always tied the ribbon himself, as he knew sometimes the muggle way was just better.

In his focus, he almost forgot the customer entirely, until, when he finished tying the bow, he looked up to the pair of green-yellow eyes watching his fingers. He met his eyes, causing him to look away promptly. He put the receipt down on the counter, his hands and fingers inspecting that the box and ribbon were pristine before following suit with it as well. “That will be 5 shillings and a knut.”

The man on the other end put down exactly that, before throwing a galleon in his tip jar, as if he was some charity case. “Thanks a ton,” Potter’s voice was deep and quiet, like he was saying something he shouldn’t be, which he guessed, in a way, he was. The man picked up the box carefully before starting to walk out. As he opened the door, however, he turned. His teeth concerning his lower lip, he looked like he was trying to say something without words. Draco caught his urge to cock his head in an attempt to ask what message was trying to be conveyed, but he wanted him out of his shop. He gestured his head curtly towards the door, turning off the open sign for good measure. The man turned, walking five feet out the door before disappearing into the night with a flick. 

Draco nearly collapsed against the countertop, the shop dim and empty now. Had he been breathing at all that whole time? What did that wretch want? He didn’t really care what the answers were, he was just glad he was gone. “Fils de pute, I don’t need this.”

-  
Unsurprisingly, considering the young man’s luck, Harry Potter returned the next day. He ordered the same blasted thing with a small cup of tea when he wandered in at 10 in the morning, his hair unruly and his clothing unkempt, as if the man didn’t know what an anti-wrinkle spell was, or even how to use a fucking iron. And this became his routine, coming in at 10, ordering the same thing, and sitting at one of the stools that was by the table facing the street, the floor-to-ceiling glass spotless. 

Sometimes he’d sit for a minute or two, sometimes for literal hours, just staring out the window and looking at the people as he sipped his tea. He’d occasionally mumble something into his hand, directed at seemingly himself. He did this for weeks, every day without fail. And if the store was quiet, as it often was in early December, with the Christmas rush still just far away and fall festivities being over, he’d watch him. He’d watch him write letters on his thumb with his pinky. He’d observe how his glasses would slide down his nose or fog slightly when he brought his mug close to his face. He watched how certain noises made him jump, like he was reliving an old memory again and again. He watched him be human, not The Boy Who Lived not A Savior not anything but a young man who looked out the window.

Due to this, he began to soften up to him. He’d make his order a few minutes before he came in, the tea and cake hot at his table by the time he came in. He was pleasant, or at least tried to be, to him when he came in. There was still a bite to his voice sometimes, but he didn’t have the time to hate him right now. The war was over, and he wanted this petty disagreement to end with it. The occasional jealous tone or annoyed huff would come over him, but he tried to bite it down. But he still kept up the act, even though he felt its convincingness wavering day by day. 

-

One morning, when regular December began to turn to holly and festivities and shouts, and otherwise unruly and disruptive behavior, Harry came in with a bright look on his face, his tanned dark skin blushed from cold. “Draco, it’s good to see you!”

Draco raised a suspicious eyebrow at the man, eyeing his maroon jacket and dark lashes that held snowflakes from the dusting outside. “Oh?” He asked. The enthusiasm was concerning for someone doing something they did every day. “Do you need something?” He meant the question to be rhetorical, as his order was already made and on the counter, the steam mingling in the small amount of air between the two men as they talked.

“Oh, drop the act, Malfoy,” Potter smiled, though the use of his family name did have some bite, whether intentional or not. “I just wanted to talk.”

Again, a look of confusion passed over the taller man’s face, absentmindedly looking at the man as he shrugged off his coat and put it on the counter, like he owned the place. “About what?” He cracked his knuckles as he studied his nails, acting as aloof as possible, despite his genuine curiosity.

“I just wanted to catch up, alleviate some… tension?” He said the last word like it was a question, not a statement. “I mean, we see each other every day and barely even talk.” His voice was whiney, like he was a child missing a beloved plaything.

“That’s how it was in school.”

“We aren’t in school anymore. Things are different.”

“Are they?” Draco tried to have a bite, but he knew his argument was weak and invalid. Things were different, even just in the way they both carried themselves. His confident swagger and ego that once commanded attention turned into a hunched limp. Harry seemed cautious now, like he was afraid of something. 

“Sit down with me, just for a moment. I want to talk,” Harry’s eyes burned holes in the back of his head, and he felt like he must have done something to sway his mind, as he followed him to a stool without question or rebuttal. 

After a beat or two of silence, Harry spoke. “What have you been up to?”

What a loaded, general kind of question was that? He rubbed his thumb on the back of his palm in little circles and stars, focusing on that rather than the words coming from his mouth. “Well, I started this shop to get away from it all. After… after everything I couldn’t really go back. So I got my own place and started up here. I tried to start new.”

Harry smiled crookedly, his eyes twinkling with some sort of emotion Draco couldn’t place. “Well, me too. With starting anew and all, I mean. I broke things off with Ginny, but you’ve seen the papers so you know that whole story. I went back for eighth year, but I don’t have much to do now between auror training, and the hours for that are brutal. That’s why I’m here all the time, it’s something to do in the meanwhile.”

Draco frowned, rethinking something Harry said. “You and Ginny?”

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It was all over the papers, you must know the story by now.”

“I don’t really read the paper anymore. Too many familiar faces, too many sad stories.”

“Oh,” Harry trailed off, like whatever he was about to say was now unimportant. Draco made a quizzical grunt to get him to finish what he started. “I’m gay.”

At one point in his life, Draco would’ve used this as ammunition. He would’ve laughed or taunted, done something of the sort, but he didn’t. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re sorry I’m gay?”

Oh fuck, that came out wrong. “No, I mean, I mean because I pushed you, I made you talk about it even though, even when you seemed uncomfortable. And that, well the whole world must know, and that’s your own personal, well it’s your story to tell.” Draco felt his cheeks flush, his hands rubbing his trouser legs.

“Whatever, don’t sweat it,” Harry laughed gruffly, still some hesitation in his voice. “What about you? Have you thought about settling down with anyone?”

Draco thought about it often. He thought about sitting by a hearth with someone, baking while they cooked, draping his arm around their shoulders, laying next to them as he woke up, having kids, growing up and growing old. “No, not really.”

“Seeing anyone?” Harry asked, stirring his mostly gone tea, seemingly disinterested or bored by his inability to hold eye contact anymore.

“No, not at the moment.”

“Oh,” He took a long, lazy sip from his mug to finish off the tea. “Me neither, but I’ve got my eye on someone.” He put down his cup, signaling the end of his meal, and their conversation. “It’s been good talking to you!” He pushed his body off the stool, hoping to the ground slightly, due to his short stature. “But I think I’ve got to go.” 

And with that, he was out the door.

-

It was late, but he was determined to make the place look nice. He strung garlands and barbules from the doors and countertops. He lined the stools with lights that twinkled slowly, and tables now were adorned with softly glowing candles that wouldn’t go out. And, in a small attempt to cause some mischief, he enchanted mistletoe to float over the young couples that walked into his shop, asking for sweets and teas for the other. It basically hung over two people who had mutual feelings toward each other. He hoped he’d exposed a crush or two, get some people together. Oh, and the best part, it won’t go away until the two people underneath it kiss. Draco smiled to himself, wondering what trouble he’d cause.

-

By 9:40, two couples and two young girls had been pestered by the mistletoe, causing Draco some joy when they laughed awkwardly before kissing beneath it. When it didn’t have a captor, it hung by the door, following each customer to see if it had a target of their affection within range, where it then bumped them in their direction.

Expectedly, Harry came in not much later, stopping in the door in awe. “You decorated!"

“I did,” Draco said, attempting to sound disinterested as he adjusted his apron so it sat better on his body.

As Harry looked around, still in the doorway of the small shop, he looked up, smiling warmly. “And you’ve even got mistletoe. Wow, I guess I did have you all wrong. I thought you wouldn’t decorate. I owe Pansy 5 galleons.”

“Bloody Pansy, I went shopping for some of this with her,” He laughed, running his thumb over the cool counter reassuringly. “And I enchanted the mistletoe. If you have a thing for someone in the shop, it follows you and pushes you towards them until they kiss. You should’ve seen some of the people who were under it,” Draco sighed, slightly envious and slightly content.

But when he looked at Harry, some of the color was gone from his face. “Oh,” He paused, his hand moving through his hair. “Is there a counter spell for it?”  
Draco frowned, thinking. “I don’t know of one? There might be? Why?”

Harry laughed awkwardly, cracking his knuckles in the same way Draco does when he’s nervous. “Well,-“

Suddenly, the hovering plant pushed Harry toward the counter from the back, as if he was taking far too long in the doorway. Once he was pressed against the counter, the plant idly hung above their two heads. “That’s why.”

“Oh… oh!” Draco looked down uncomfortably. “That’s odd.”

“Why?” Harry almost sounded accusatory in his tone. Fuck, why did he do this to himself?

“It’s just,” He ran his hands through his hair before placing them awkwardly on the counter. “I only enchanted it to go between people where the feeling is mutual? And I didn’t think that-“ He didn’t know where he was really going with his sentence, so he let it trail off into the air between them.

He looked at the counter hesitantly. It was too wide. He turned, sitting on the counter and gracefully swinging his legs to the other side before jumping down, nearly silently, to be on the same side as Harry. If he was going to do this, he’d do it right. “May I?”

With a curt, almost businesslike nod, Draco gently kissed Harry. He didn’t draw him closer or linger too long, it was a kiss and that was it. But even still he saw sparks. “Putain de Merde,” He cursed quietly at himself for feeling weak-kneed after a short kiss like that.

He was about to walk back to his spot behind the counter, accepting the fact he’d never see Potter come back after such a sham like this, when he felt hands lock around his neck. He kissed him deeply, his face scruffy but not rough. He put his hands in the platinum hair, pulling gently to achieve closer proximity. After a moment, he pulled away, his face red and hair ruffled. Had Draco done that? 

“I’m sorry, I just thought that first kiss wasn’t enough.” Harry smiled, his hand on the back of his neck, rubbing awkward circles into his shoulder blades.

Draco smiled, making fleeting eye contact before promptly dropping it to the floor. “Yeah, I agree.” He frowned as a sentence formed in the back of his throat, but before he could stop it, it pushed out of his mouth. “Do you want to come by after closing tomorrow?”

“I’d love to.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry questions his choices and nearly makes a mistake along the way. (Sorry it's so short)

That night, Harry expected things to be different. He hoped, after washing up and putting on his sleepwear; that he would feel something entirely different, but he didn’t. It still took him over an hour to go to sleep, and when he did he saw blood and war and famine. He saw Lupin and Tonks, their corpses moved from the yard, cold hands still clutched together. He felt pain and loss and woke up after barely sleeping for 4 hours. He lay in bed, a sob wracking him. The war was over for everyone else, so why did he keep fighting?

After barely managing another hour long nap, he woke up with his head buzzing; ready for the day. He got used to sleeping so little, and it was almost reminiscent of school again, not that he had any particular affinity for getting back into that life again. He eyed a letter attached to his Owl, Asclepius, and untied Hermione’s signature red ribbon, but failed to open it. She probably wanted him to come visit the burrow with her and Ron. He’d toyed with the idea over and over, to the point his bags were always half packed, either unpacking from a trip he never took or getting ready for a voyage he would fail to venture. 

But he was busy, he always was. He always had something to consider or worry about. He had training and his flat and gorgeous Asclepius, who, not unlike himself, was such a homebody he’d wail when he had to be away for long periods. He was honestly one of the worst owls in the sense of accurate and timely delivery, but he was so like Hedwig he didn’t mind all that much. And he had plants and pets, the likes of which were so varied and rich it would be a shame to ever leave them for too long. He knew he was supposed to, maybe even destined to be an Auror, but he felt most happy with his dragon lilies and newts then at the business end of a wand.

It was muggy and warm for December, with yesterday’s snow already mist on the black tar of London roads. It was still a cool 6 degrees, but he wanted to wear more than a light sweater at this time of year. Anyhow, he pushed on jeans and a golden button-up, his robes a brilliant maroon with gold buttons and stitching that seemed to move as he walked, inching around his body at the seams of the cloak. He threw on a thick black belt and headed out into the world.

The air was still and relatively nice, despite his earlier complaints. Wizarding London was already buzzing, and he mentally noted that getting out early, even if most didn’t consider 9 early, was a good thing for him. His dreams began to fade from his head as he walked into the local coffee shop. 

Like usual, he got a gawk or two. He didn’t care all too much, as some of them were honestly well intentioned. There was a young girl trying to tell her mother she had seen the man in the corner of the shop on the news, and that she wanted to know what he was doing here. The mother said pointing and staring was rude. She only stopped the former.

He walked to his seat without ordering, but not before placing a galleon in the tip jar on his way. He hated coffee, maybe as the smell had permeated his childhood, but it would be rather impolite to use the shop just for their heat and seating, so this was his way of skirting around his impoliteness. The young witch at the counter nodded at him as he passed, before moving to give her attention to a loud customer complaining about the heat of his iced coffee.

He had honestly been trying his hardest to forget about the previous night. He was embarrassed, he had rushed things, and he certainly felt like he had made a mistake. He put his heavy head in his tanned, rough hands and wondered what fresh mess he had gotten himself into.

As the day went on, he toyed with the idea of not showing up to the bakery. He felt as if he had a bad hangover, and it was Malfoy for God’s sake! It felt like a weird trap, like it was a hazy dream.

He didn’t even fully remember why he had chosen to walk in that day. He passed it often, but always decided that it was a venture for another day. But then he decided that random November day was it? He couldn’t help but wonder if he had made a mistake, seeing Malfoy’s scowl when he walked in the door. But at that point, he wasn’t even in view. Was that just Malfoy’s normal level of distain for all walks of life? He wouldn’t be surprised.

But then, he came back. He came back and came back and made it a habit. He convinced himself it was the food, but each time it was like he was greeted by a different version of the man he thought he knew so well. Or rather ‘thought’ he knew so well. 

Once he began to preplan Harry’s meal, he understood they had reached some type of truce in their petty feud, and all seemed well. That is, until he decided to mess everything by inviting him to a chat.

He felt bad for leaving so suddenly, but the conversation was awkward and strained and he felt like Malfoy was looking into his goddamned soul whenever he looked at him. And then there was that dastardly feeling in his stomach that made him want to be closer to Draco, even though he knew that was most certainly not what he wanted. Or so he thought.

Before his mind could wander to the previous night, he stopped himself. He didn’t want to think about any of that now, or really ever for that matter. He didn’t like how vulnerable he felt in that moment. He didn’t like how he wore his heart on his sleeve so carelessly. He didn’t like how Draco conducted himself like that had been a regular occurrence, the way he swept himself over that damn counter and next to Harry. He didn’t like it at all. 

He really did consider not going, and he really did think he wouldn’t. But at 10 O’clock on the dot, he walked into the godforsaken store and greeted Malfoy with a hug- a fucking hug- and sat down at his usual table.


End file.
